


All I Want

by griners



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griners/pseuds/griners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sheets are touching his body in all the wrong places. Steven isn’t touching him anywhere. (Or: how to waste the better part of a decade.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want

There is a very big difference, everyone realizes, at one point, between a stadium and a street. It isn’t all about size, although, sometimes, it is- louder screams, blasting chants, thrumming emotions, amplified speed, burning sun and pounding rain.

Steven thinks he can live his whole life in Anfield, because he doesn’t need anything else. But there is a very big difference, he realizes, at one point, between what he needs and what he can have.

Maybe that’s why they hated each other. At first.

 

1.

Xabi is leaving his lamborghini and tripping over his feet when Steven first seems him. Xabi catches his eye and recognizes him, waves and presents himself. “Xabi. Xabi Alonso. I am your new, uhm, midfield.”

Steven wants to laugh. “A whole new midfield, eh?” he’s annoyed, tired and helpless. “Kay, kid, here’s what you’re gonna do- play what you need to play, and don’t get in anyone’s way. Yeah?”

Xabi blinks. “Yes. I will not.”

“Good,” Steven claps him on the back and heads into the stadium. The noise blurs around him, and the streets disappear.

.

“Is he going to replace me?” arms crossed, biting his cheek. Benitez looks at him questioningly.

“Do not be ridiculous, Steven.”

“Is that a no?”

He turns to look at Steven fully. “That is an absolute no, Steven.”

He doesn’t look away for a few seconds. When he does, his eyes go back to Xabi. “Good. He’s good.”

“He is.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Ah,” Benitez smiles. “Football is making you old, son. No one is here to ambush you.”

Steven looks down. “I’m trusting you on this.”

“You should.” He grabs a bottle of water and opens it, cracking it loudly. Steven looks over and Rafa smiles, and “I’m rooming you together for the next away match.”

_Ah, fuck_.

 

2.

He wakes up to a buzzing alarm clock. It’s obscenely early and he’s tired, very tired, but they need to get to breakfast and warm up before the game. He turns to wake his roommate but finds the bed empty.

“I was going to wake you, Steven,” Xabi emerges from the bathroom before he can properly open his eyes. “I am going to, eh, clean my tooth. Teeth. Do you need anything?”

Steven groans and gets out of bed, grumbling “No,” and “I’m good” as he grabs a pair of socks and sweatpants. Xabi looks away and reenters the bathroom before taking two steps back, gathering his words and asking, “Do you hate me?”

Steven looks up and shrugs, mutters “Kinda,” and puts on his shoes. Xabi goes to brush his teeth and Steven walks out the door.

.

They’re winning and Xabi passes him the ball.

It happens in two seconds- Steven watches the curvature of the trajectory, the way the ball slices the air as if magnetically attracted to his feet, loves the way the crowd holds their breath and cheers at a 30 yard pass. It lands a meter away from him and Steven looks at Xabi, exhales, and runs.

He shakes his hand a little harder after the match ends. Xabi is still fresh, but he doesn’t miss it.

 

3.

He’s so drunk. Drunk. So drunk. Oh God, he’s so drunk.

Carra is hoisting him up and laughing at the same time and Steven has given up, at this point, and decides that the world is much better with alcohol in it. His vision has turned blurry and he hears a very distinct jiggly sound and smells something sharp and pleasant and he’s seated, somewhere, and a door closes.

He gets home, somehow. He looks to his right and sees the last person he wants to see sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Do you need help with the path to your porch?”

Steven just wants to get out, really. He pushes the door open and the floor is harder than he remembers as he falls beautifully face-on against it, and Xabi is right by his side to help him up. He drags him to the door and rings the bell once, and Stevie still has time to ask “Why are you doing this?”

Xabi looks at him like the question couldn’t be more stupid. “You hate me, but I think you are an inspiration.”

Steven’s eyes widen considerably and then his wife is opening the door.

(The next day is hell for him. The alcohol is only somewhat responsible.)

.

Steven passes the ball to Xabi.

Xabi smiles.

 

4.

“Wanna go down for a pint?”

Xabi’s expression is unreadable. He stops tying his shoelaces and stares off into the distance and Steven, he worries. “Alonso? You okay?”

Xabi opens his mouth a few times before- “What is a pint?”

Steven snorts, and Xabi blushes. “Come on. Follow me.”

Xabi does.

.

Steven hugs him and it’s- hard and soft and skin against skin and heart and heart and wild joy and frantic hands and- “What a winner, Steven!”

“Stevie!” he shouts into Xabi’s ear and Xabi’s smile gets bigger and bigger and they win, God, they win, and Liverpool is so, so great. Liverpool is-

“I love-“ he starts but then Stevie’s pulled back into a round of hugs but they look- blue and brown, Xabi tries to finish it, Steven’s pulse quickens.

“I love Liverpool.” Xabi says, later, when they’re in the locker rooms.

“Oh,” Steven says, and the conversation ends there.

 

5. 

“Half a year, Alonso!” Steven is smiling widely, and Xabi’s heart swells a little. “’Mon, we gotta celebrate. To 6 months putting up with us scousers.”

“I, uhm, I can’t, actually,” Xabi scratches the back of his neck uneasily. “Nagore and I already planned dinner. Celebrations.”

“Nagore?”

Xabi nods, the corner of his mouth tucked in. “Yes. Girlfriend.”

Steven shakes his head. “Right. Yea’, right, of course, no, go go-“

“But thank you,” Xabi says hurriedly, his smile almost forced, “You are very kind.”

Steven tries to smile back but fails. Xabi walks out the lobby and Steven returns to the dressing room, takes the bottle of champagne out of his locker and dumps it in the trash.

.

Steven gets a red, grunts and groans and hits the wall on his way to the tunnel. He doesn’t stay for the rest of the game.

“You went way too hard on him,” Xabi states, first one leaving the field at half time, first one finding Steven in a lost hallway with blank walls and some amount of quiet.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Steven responds bitterly, and “Go back to the others.”

“No, I,”

“That’s an order,” he seethes, and Xabi cringes unnoticeably. “I don’t need you,” he gestures “to babysit me.”

Xabi crosses his arms, laughs bitterly. “No. You don’t.” he leaves

( _You don’t need me._ )

 

6. 

It’s Alex, Nicola, Jamie and Steven. There’s positivity and relaxation and they need this, at times, and today is one of those times. Jamie kisses Nicola on the cheek before she gets up to help lift the plates with Alex, and they both disappear into the hall while cracking a joke about men who are so quick to run and yet so slow to clean the kitchen.

“God, tha’ woman,” Jamie shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ll never understan’ wha’ she sees in me.”

“Me neither,” Steven chuckles, and Jamie kicks him under the table. “You did argue for the most part of your relationship.”

“Ahh mate, pretty sure we hated each other then,” he takes a sip of his wine and sets the glass down. “I don’t know. There was just somethin’ ‘bout her. You know?”

“Yeah,” Steven nods (downs the whole glass). “I know.”

“You and Alex argue much?”

“Nope. Not a day in our lives.”

.

“Goddamnit, Alonso!” Steven yells in the middle of the game, and it’s a rare moment where the cameras aren’t quite as sharp (they have time).

“I was fucking blocked, I could not pass to you!” Xabi replies, dumbfounded and defensive.

“Ah, fuck off will you,” Steven’s already running in the other direction but Xabi catches up, grabs his shoulder and turns him around and Steven’s cheeks are flushed with frustration and his hair is sticking up in 12 different places and his kit is clinging to his body and Xabi is so, so lost here.

“I couldn’t pass,” he says, again, because he’s searching for words he doesn’t know yet and “What are you angry about?”

Something flashes in his eyes and then he’s running again (he doesn’t look back).

They win. He blows off the press and is the first one to get dressed. He starts his car and leaves.

 

7. 

(This doesn’t count, he thinks. He can’t feel at all, so it can’t count, he thinks. But-)

Xabi’s huffing every ten seconds and eyeing the cup every other one. Steven is behind him.

“It’ll be ours.”

Xabi frowns and doesn’t turn, but doesn’t face forward, either. “My heart, I- is about to, uh, explode. Burst.”

Steven laughs, quiet and a secret, almost. “Yeah. Mine too.”

(He wants to say: _I don’t hate you. I can’t. I don’t._ )

“Let’s win this, yeah?”

Xabi straightens his shoulders, eyes him, smiles broadly. “Yes.”

( _I’ve never hated you_.)

.

Oh God oh God oh God oh fucking God oh-

“I scored!” he screams beneath pounds of bodies and rushing hearts and loud, loud chants.

“You fuckin’ did, Xabi!” and Xabi’s eyes are bright and tear filled and he half laughs, half cries, finds an in-between when Steven presses even closer to him.

“I love-“

“I know!” Steven smiles and winks and Xabi thinks maybe he really, really does.

(They win. Oh God, they win.)

 

8. 

It happens over something so, so stupid. Xabi enters a hotel room in England, maybe Spain, maybe even France. He looks at the bed and his head swirls with a past that clings on desperately and he-

“Stevie!” he shouts, and Steven frowns because _what the fuck mate, I’m right here_.

“What?”

“Istanbul.”

“Magic. What about it?”

Xabi looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. His breathing changes and his arms freeze and Steven sits on the bed, mutters _fuck fuck fuck fuck_ and Xabi, Xabi just- “We didn’t. No. We did?”

“Shit.”

“We didn’t.”

“Not how I remember.”

“You remembered?” Xabi’s voice has gone up and up and he’s incredulous, afraid.

“Thought you did, too.” Steven murmurs, and Xabi realizes, then. That. Fuck.

They’re fucked.

.

Xabi shies away from Steven’s arm draped over his shoulders when he scores.

It’s a while before Steven looks at him again.

 

9.

A mix of shots and “I’ve Never”. They’re children for the night.

“I’ve never been with a bloke.”

There’s a whole bunch of shots being downed, and it doesn’t go against anyone’s expectations- the lines may be clean and sharp in a screen, but hearts beat wildly in pure green grass and those same lines get blurred, sometimes. Sometimes, often.

Steven and Jamie both welcome the burn in their throats, look at each other and are torn apart with laughter. Pepe looks frantically between the two of them, eyebrows close to his non-existent hairline and the pair just laugh harder.

“Shit, no. Not with each other, shit,” Jamie is far past what he can handle. Steven took his keys two shots before. “God, really? No, Jesus no.”

“Nope,” Stevie reiterates, a bit more sober and clear-headed. “Nah, mate. Someon’ else.”

(Steven doesn’t expect it: Xabi looks him dead on, intent and fervent, and Steven shifts and thinks about calling a cab. For two, maybe. Xabi smirks subtly and he’s- fuck, fuck-)

“Was it good?” Crouch asks, ashamed the second later but still ever curious.

“Best fuck o’ me life.”

(Xabi downs his shot.)

.

They’re lining up to exit the tunnel. It’s quick and simple: Steven passes by, says “Got the impression you wanted to forget,” moves in front of him.

He hears the rustle of fabric as Xabi shrugs, can almost hear the smile, really: “Couldn’t.”

Steven hums. Shifts a bit.

 

10. 

“You’re different.”

“I’m old.”

“You’re twenty-seven, Xabi,” Steven says, surprised, but Xabi just looks at him like he knows more than he should.

“Football wise, that is not very young.”

He sits down next to him. His hands grow moist, his nerve endings on alert. “Meaning?”

“I feel like, maybe, I. Miss things? No. Perhaps I am missing chances, that is it. Yes.”

“Haven’t seen you struggle with english in a few months,” Steven jokes, because the atmosphere is suffocating. Xabi looks at him once more and he can’t breathe. “Is this about football?”

“In a way.”

Steven stills. “In what way?”

Xabi looks down, laughs. “I want to kiss you. That way, Stevie.”

Steven looks down, too. “Ah. Well. I’ve been missing chances for a while, then.”

“Yeah.”

( _You’re football to me. My career is passing me by._ )

.

Xabi stops. They’re singing his song. Xabi feels. He knows the words. Xabi aches. Xabi loves, God, Liverpool, he loves.

_Xabi Alonso_ , they sing, an anthem. Xabi hurts all over, wants to crumble to his knees. He still loves, needs, hopes, prays it’s enough.

(Steven notices. _We would choose Xabi every time_. He loves, too.)

 

11. 

Xabi rings his bell. Steven opens the door in boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

“Xabi, it’s 2 am.”

“I know,” he does “Is she-“

“Spain.”

“I love you.”

Steven blinks. Once. Twice. He opens the door wider. Xabi gets in.

“I must be getting old because I can’t smell any alcohol on you.”

“I did not drink.”

Steven blinks again. “Smoke? Weed, maybe?”

Xabi laughs, in spite of himself, desperate. “Steven.”

“Did you hit your head somewhe-“

Xabi presses him against the wall and his lips against his and a thigh between his legs and everything is a piece of an impossible puzzle. Steven makes a loud noise and scrambles to get closer and closer, slips a hand on his nape and another in his hair.

Xabi is tongue and mouth and bites, small and fluttery, running a line down his neck where the moans blend with a raging heartbeat. Xabi stops when his finger is locked in Steven’s boxers.

“Fuck,” Steven pants. “Fuck.”

“Verb or swear word?”

Steven chokes in his own laughter. “Christ, Xabi. Just shut up.”

( _Some mistakes exist to be made. Still. They are mistakes_.)

.

Steven looks as Xabi’s taken out of the field in a stretcher. He feels like he just got punched in the stomach and face at the same time, and, and, he’s- he’s way too. Too.

(He could say _fucked_. He ducks his head and inwardly screams _in love_.)

 

12.

Steven rings Xabi’s bell. Xabi answers way too quickly and way too rehearsed. Expecting.

Steven holds up the paper. _Alonso, in or out?_

“Yes?”

“I was gonna ask you that.” Steven pauses. “Yes?”

“Yes what?”

“We’re speaking english, here,” this is important. “Xabi. Do you have a say in this?”

Xabi’s jaw goes hard. His hand grips the knob. “Yes.”

“Are you going?”

Xabi’s eyes are pleading and deep, ever so slightly broken. Steven can only be still.

Xabi’s forehead falls against the edge of the door and, “No. But I want to.”

Steven walks in. His legs shake a little. He may be afraid. He may also- “I love you.”

Xabi laughs and closes the door. “Steven. We are-“

Yeah.

.

“Ah, mate, this better not be the last game we play. Together. You know.”

Xabi stares at the grass. The whistle blows, and he runs.

 

13. 

“Hello, I’d like to order a large pizza. Yes, olives and ham.” noises, a voice “Some anchovies as well. K, thanks.” And “Who the fuck eats anchovies?”

“Who the fuck does not have food in the fridge?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Anchovies don’t count as food, Xabi.”

He looks outraged. “I will pretend you did not say that.” He continues mindlessly reorganizing his kitchen and Steven watches.

“We have another year,” out of the blue, and, “Do you ever think we’re running from the future? Or, trying to?”

Xabi quirks an eyebrow, grabs a bunch of knives to stack them in a drawer. “Now who’s getting old.”

Steven grins widely. “Nah. This is all football.”

Xabi rolls his eyes. It’s never all football, but he pretends, anyway.

.

The crowd is dispersing, and Steven is somewhere. Not there.

“Steven?” Jamie’s beside him, somehow.

“You know, the years have passed. And yet,” he points to no particular location. “The stands are still full. Always.”

Jamie falls silent. He knows he shouldn’t and he doesn’t, claps him on the back and settles for “Yeah, Stevie. Yeah.”

( _We’re older, aren’t we?_ )

 

14. 

Steven follows him out the bar. Jamie pretends to fall down a chair so the reporter doesn’t follow them both.

Xabi’s talking on the phone. His hand trembles, the other holding a cigarette. Steven is familiar with this, even if he never says so.

“ _Sí, sí. Gracias._ _Buenas noches_ ,” a quick drag, his phone in his pocket. He knows who’s behind him but chooses not to (know, turn, speak?). He grabs his pack instead.

“I think that may be enough, mate,” assertive and delicate, Xabi wonders if it’ll always be like this. “Xabi.”

He moves to stand in front of him. Xabi still isn’t looking. Xabi smokes. Xabi may have fisted his hand so hard it turned his deliciously-sun-kissed-skin into a pale white.

“Fuck.”

“Okay.”

.

They lose.

 

15. 

The sheets are touching his body in all the wrong places. Steven isn’t touching him anywhere.

“So. Madrid.”

“Probably.”

“But not Liverpool.”

“No.”

Steven nods. Xabi kisses him because he won’t have many chances to do so, afterwards. After. Everything.

“Hey. Maybe we’ll be one of those really rare couples that actually make it through long distance.” They laugh soundly, _couples_ and _long distance_ not lost but maybe forgotten, pushed to the side. Xabi runs his fingers along Steven’s arm.

“I will not let my english degrade. Uhm. Disappear.”

“Your english has always been a bit shitty, Xabs.”

“So has yours, Steven.”

Steven smiles. His forehead touches his. “I hate you, sometimes.”

“Think. This would all be easy if that were true.”

There’s no answer. Xabi didn’t expect one.

.

Steven steps onto freshly cut grass. The weather is miserable. They win.

“Maybe you didn’t need me, after all.” His voice coming through sad and restrained, in that exact order.

Steven presses the phone closer to his ear. “Never said we did, mate. Just wanted you, s’all.” Xabi laughs. “What’s it like there?”

“Good. A lot of sun.”

“Better be. Thinkin’ ‘bout spending the summer there.”

Xabi smiles. “Good. Good.”


End file.
